Touched
by QuietConspiracy
Summary: Or, Annie's life from her Games until pre-epilogue Mockingjay. For the Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Challange.


**"You see her when you close your eyes; **

**Maybe one day you'll understand why; **

**Everything you touch surely dies" **

**-'Let Her Go' by Passenger**

* * *

She remembers the last time she was with him.

She remembers the way his hand felt in hers- his strong, warm, and calloused clashing with her delicate, cold, smooth ones.

She'd tried to insist that she come with him, but he chuckled and shook off her concerns.

_"Don't be stupid; I'll be back safe and sound before you even know I'm gone."_

Not twenty minutes later, she heard his screams. She'd rushed to his side, tried to save him.

It'd been too little, too late. She'd watch the girl from Seven behead him- her best friend, his mentor's brother.

_Dylan, gone. All it took was the slice of an ax._

* * *

He's never really left her.

Every time she closes her eyes, she sees his face; laughing, smiling, fifteen years of memories together.

It wasn't all that surprising she'd gone off the deep end when he died. He was like a brother to her, after all.

She'd won for him.

Or at least, that's what she would've said, if the shock of his loss and her victory hadn't overwhelmed her.

At least, that's what the Capitol claimed.

But what did they know?

* * *

He's the reason she clutches her ears.

Every foghorn, every hurricane siren wail, every thunderclap- it all reminds her of him.

And there was nothing she could do.

* * *

But he isn't the only death she feels responsible for.

The only year she mentored, Dylan's brother by her side, she'd hugged her tribute before they'd boarded the hovercraft.

The tracker jackers had taken her out.

And so another face haunts her whenever she dares blink for more than an instant.

_Your fault. You couldn't save her. There was nothing you could do._

_Nothing. Nothing and everything._

* * *

When Fire-girl and Lover-boy win that year, she rushes into the arms of Dylan's brother.

His coppery curls and sea-like eyes remind her so much of Dylan.

Maybe that's why she falls for him. He reminds her of the love she lost.

But he isn't Dylan; she knows that.

Dylan smelled of the sea, of seaweed, of three-day old shrimp rotting in the warehouses back home. His brother smells of fancy colognes, of raspberry vodka (his favorite), and those disgusting salt-and-vinegar potato chips he swears he'll never give up.

He'll never really be hers; not with what that blasted president does to him.

Yet she loves him all the same.

* * *

After she's caught in the Capitol, she's treated much nicer than she's expecting.

She gets her own little suite in the president's mansion, and Avoxes bring her food and her medicines both in the morning and at night.

She skips the pills; they make her forget her troubles.

But she doesn't want to forget; she needs to remember.

It's what she deserves for winning when it should've been Dylan.

* * *

Eventually, she gets taken underground by the rebels.

Finally,_ finally_, she's reunited with the only person who truly loves her.

* * *

He proposes one night, just before lights out.

Of course, she says yes.

Fire-girl flies her back where District Twelve used to be.

The dresses- there are so many, all beautiful, all designed just to celebrate the yearly winner who lived through the murder of twenty-three innocents.

It sickens her, but what can she do in her broken state?

Finally, they settle on the perfect dress- a long-sleeved floor-length V-necked velvety green number that reminds her of her own dress, the one she wore on her interview night all those years ago, back when Dylan was still alive.

It fits her like a glove, and before she knows it she's back on the hovercraft heading underground again.

* * *

Their wedding's attended by three hundred strangers.

The vows are special, heartfelt, meaningful.

The dancing is glorious. But the cake?

It's beyond wonderful.

The creamy frosting is decorated to look just like something a merchant family would've paid for back home. The dolphins and waves are so lifelike she's almost afraid to cut into the cake.

But they do.

* * *

After their wedding, she scarcely lets go of his hand for more than ten minutes at a time.

And that is her first mistake.

* * *

Soon, he gets called off to war.

After one last night together, she holds his hand until he has to get on the hovercraft.

He kisses her on the cheek.

Little does she know that's the last kiss he'll ever give her.

* * *

On the news, it's announced he's died.

They show footage. Torn to death by lizard mutts.

Despicable. It makes her sick to watch.

With every upchuck of her lunch, ten minutes of sobbing follows.

She never should've let go.

But it's too late.

_He's gone, and it's all your fault._

_There was nothing you could do. Nothing, and everything._

* * *

They bring his remains back in a metal container the size of a cigar box.

The funeral is small, perhaps fifty people in total.

She's crying the entire time, completely inconsolable.

But there's only one person who she blames.

_Coin._

* * *

She sees Fire-girl shoot an arrow through Coin's heart.

The ex-president, who's tied up on a post, laughs so hard he chokes and dies with a smile on his face.

Two horrible, horrible people who destroyed her life, have taken so much away from her, are gone.

And something else registers as being gone his month.

Ten minutes later, a pink plus sign on a white stick confirms what she already suspected.

_She's not so alone after all._

* * *

As her stomach expands, the joy she felt at realizing she carries the last piece of her husband turns to dread.

_She's not ready for this._

_Too young, too alone._

She swears she'll never hold her baby.

_Why should she get to? Everything she touches dies._

* * *

Finally, at seven months gone, she gets to go home.

_But it's not home, not if he's not there to keep her safe._

* * *

After seventeen hours in the hospital, she's the mother of a little boy.

The doctors ask if she wants to hold him.

She shakes her head.

"Why not?"

She purses her lips, and then speaks. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't want him. Someone, adopt him."

Her friend and birth coach speaks up, woodsy accent and all. "I'll do it."

* * *

A few questionnaires and hours of paperwork later, only two things are left.

One is her son's name. The other, the signature that'll say he's hers no more.

The name is easier.

The signature? Not so much.

But she takes a deep breath and signs away her baby, knowing it's for the best.

And just like that, little Arden Odair becomes Arden Mason.

* * *

She visits them as often as she can, which is usually once every couple of months.

As Arden grows up, he starts to question things.

"Auntie, why do I look like you than Mom?"

"Auntie, do you know who my daddy is?"

"Auntie, why won't you tell me anything?"

But she won't budge.

For to tell him the truth is to touch his innocence.

And if everything she touched died then, well-

She valued that not dying just yet.

* * *

**For the Caesar's Palace monthly oneshot challenge.**


End file.
